I Saved Bella's Life
by NevilleCanKickMattLewis'Butt
Summary: "Psychology is often a depressing career, but each success is worth witnessing a thousand ruined lives. Whenever I'm feeling particularly discouraged, I like to think back on the story of one teenage girl..." Not as good as I'd imagined, but worth a read.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. But if it ever gets taken away from its current abusive owner I'd be willing to adopt rather than have it live in some sort of institution. No story deserves that life._

_o-o-o_

I see a lot of odd people in my line of work. Now don't get me wrong, some odd people, those eccentric folks, are rather good company. The kind of odd I see every day, however, is not the good kind. These unusual people I work with are at the lowest points in their lives. Most have gone through some sort of trauma. Others have psychological damage that they were born with. Whatever their problem, I do everything in my power to help them. Some – most – people in this line of work are in it for the money. Not me. Call me a sap; call me an idealist. I don't mind. Both are true.

If I've learned one thing from my twenty years as a psychologist, it's that not every story has a happy ending. I've had plenty of patients lose their jobs, end up in jail, commit suicide. Sometimes the worst thing is when a patient switches doctors for whatever reason, and I never do find out how their story ends. At least blatant failures don't keep me up wondering at night.

I've heard it said that psychologists are much more messed up than any of their patients. At times I think that that's true. I'm not boasting, only stating the truth, when I say that I am a very empathetic woman. Every time I'm introduced to the problems of a new, tortured patient, I feel a bit of that madness rub off on myself. At certain moments I feel that I need to fix my patients to fix myself. It's those moments that make me wonder why I have this job.

But those are only moments, fleeting moments, and at every other point in my life I know that the reason I choose to pursue my current career is all the stories with happy endings. Each success is a heartwarming miracle that's worth witnessing a thousand ruined lives.

Whenever I'm feeling particularly discouraged, I like to think back on the story of one teenage girl I worked with just a few years ago.

_o-o-o_

I let my head fall onto the back of my chair. The chair back only reached to my shoulders, so my neck bent at a ninety-degree angle and my nose pointed straight up. My eyes searched the ceiling. It was white. Ceilings tend to be. Whatever color the walls are, the ceiling is always white. I wondered why that was. I peeked at the clock on the wall out of the corner of my eye. I had only ten minutes until my next appointment. I closed my eyes for a moment and let myself feel the inner confusion and chaos that I always get on the job.

My neck began to ache, so lifted my head off the wood of the chair and let it fall forward. My head was now bowed in a way that reminded me of prayer. Sometimes I believe in God and sometimes I don't, but that day I did, so I gave a little silent, rambling prayer. _Why, God, do you give people difficult phobias and crippling depression? Is it because you knew I could help them? I think you ask too much of me…_

A couple of minutes later, I heard a voice outside saying, "My daughter is here to see Dr. Stevensen." That would be my five o'clock appointment.

"But dad," said a girl, presumably the daughter, "I'm okay. There's nothing wrong with me." From the sound of her voice I could tell she was lying. Her tone, both emotionless and full of emotion, spoke of buried pain, hidden beneath a shield of apathy. After all my experience, I could see the signs even before I saw the girl.

In all my years of practicing psychology, I have never quite gotten used to the first meeting with a new patient. I never know what to expect. Today I was particularly nervous. This girl didn't sound like the type to open up. She would be a tough nut to crack.

I looked over at my credentials on the wall. _Melanie Stevensen, Doctor of Psychology_. Seeing those words printed up all officially always make me feel more confident.

I concentrated for a moment to recall what I already knew about this patient. In his earlier communication with me, the girls' father had told me his daughter had broken up with her boyfriend a few months ago and still wasn't over it. This seemed very odd to me, but my first rule for myself in the workplace was, and still is, to never judge my patients. So I kept an open mind.

Outside my office door, my receptionist asked, "Name?"

"Swan. My daughter's name is Bella."

"Here it is. Bella Swan, five o'clock. You're a couple minutes early, but I don't believe Dr. Stevensen is busy at the moment, so go right in."

_o-o-o_

_It's terrible, I know. But I stayed up late writing this and around 10:00 my words get all jumbled. Please please please review and tell me if any part doesn't make sense right away or sounds kinda weird. Also tell me: Does the whole rant at the beginning about the patients and the empathy and the work make sense and add to the story, or is it just a load of garbage? Oh, and also keep reading because it gets more interesting later, probably._

_P.S. Really if you get to any part and think to yourself, "huh, that could have been phrased better" then review and tell me! It's only a click away! Anonymous comments are enabled!_

_**Update:**__ It's come to my attention that I do not establish the character's gender at the beginning, which creates problems as the stereotypical psychologist is male, while my protagonist is a woman. I have altered a word fix this problem. Thank you to Chinmayi for incorrectly but understandably viewing Dr. Stevenson as a man._


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked patiently.

The teen sitting rigidly on the couch rolled her eyes. "Because I was bad?" she supplied wryly.

"Is that your final answer?"

She stared at me blankly, and I returned her gaze until she looked down at her lap. "Because Charlie made me," she grumbled.

"And why do you think that is?"

"Why Charlie made me?"

"Exactly."

"He was worried."

"Why was he worried?"

"I don't do a lot of things. I have no life." She met my eye again. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes brimmed with pain. "Do you think I should hang out with my friends more? Would that help?"

"Bella, you should hang out with friends because you want to, not because your father wants you to!"

"Charlie says the same thing." Her eyes narrowed. I thought she was going to continue, but she remained silent.

I was going to have to be more direct. "Bella, your father tells me that your boyfriend broke up with you this fall."

She said nothing. She only glared at her knees and gripped the edge of the couch with both hands.

"Do you think that had a major effect on you?"

Nothing.

"Your father seems to think that you've been different since the breakup. Do you agree?'

Nothing.

"Can you tell me how it happened?"

Her knuckles went a bit white from clamping onto the couch, but other than that she gave no sign that she heard me.

"Bella, I can't help you if you won't talk to me."

She said nothing.

"Bella, honestly, I need you to answer my questions."

She continued to stare at her knees.

I waited a minute, then said, "How do you feel right now, Bella? Frustrated? Angry? Stubborn?"

I thought I detected a bit of an eye roll after that one.

I asked questions for about ten more minutes, to no avail. Finally, I sat down at my desk and waited. This was partly to get her to speak up and break the silence, and partly because I was fresh out of ideas.

Still she persisted in her muteness. I sat and watched her. After a few minutes, she seemed to relax a little. It seemed that she had been bracing herself against my inquiries, as if under attack. Now, given a short respite from my bombardment, the tension in her body slowly dissipated. She even crossed and uncrossed her ankles.

She wasn't going to start spouting about her depression or her ex-boyfriend, I realized. But that didn't mean I couldn't make her speak to me. "What's your favorite subject in school?" I asked, shattering the heavy silence that had fallen over the room.

"I dunno," she mumbled. "English, I s'pose."

"What do you like about English?"

"Not too hard. Lots of reading. And I'm pretty good at essays."

"Do you like math?"

"Not as much, but it's not too hard for me." She was starting to look more comfortable, and even looked away from her lap.

"What do you do to help around the house, Bella?"

"Lots of things. 'Specially cooking and dishes."

"Do you cook a lot?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Erm, yes, I suppose. What do you like to cook?"

"Spaghetti is easy. And I make pretty good lasagna. And fried chicken. And stew. And sometimes if I don't have much time I'll make macaroni and cheese."

"Do you bake?"

"Not often, but sometimes."

"Do you like baking cookies?"

"If I have something to serve them at."

"Did you know you can bake cookies in a waffle iron? It gets them done really fast."

"Oh. Cool." She didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Um…" she mulled over this for a second or two before quickly glancing down again. "Not sure."

"Maybe you can give it some thought and get back to me next time, if we end up meeting again. Does that sound good?"

"Nngh."

"Great. Now let's look at some ink blobs and see what they look like."

"Mmf."

I pulled a stack of Rorschach test cards from my desk drawer and showed her the first one. "What does this look like to you?"

She stared at the card for about ten seconds before finally responding, "A blob of ink."

I sighed inwardly. _Back to square one_.

_o-o-o_

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Swan, we didn't make much progress today," I admitted. "But if you think it prudent to bring her back again next week, I'll give it another go."

"I've heard great things about you, Dr. Stevenson. If anyone can help my daughter, you can. Should we come back at the same time next week?"

I couldn't help but smile a little at his compliment. "I think so. I'll have my receptionist check my schedule and call you to confirm the date."

"Perfect. We'll see you then."

"Oh, and one more thing – have you had her checked for depression?"

"Yes, but the doctor said there wasn't a problem that medication can fix. Chemically, her mind is functioning properly."

Odd. "That's all. I'll be seeing you next week."

"Thank you for your time," Mr. Swan said, turning to go.

"No need to thank me," I answered. "I'm the one getting paid."

_o-o-o_

_So far I have no reviews. This is not good. Look, people, if you have time to read, you have time to write just a _little_ review, right? Just a tiny review with just one piece of critique is fine. The fact is, fanfiction is pretty pointless. You don't get published. You don't get awards. You don't get recognition (unless your story is so bad it goes viral cough cough My Immortal cough). I'm only doing this to improve as a writer. So please, please, tell me what's done right and what's done wrong. If you read and choose not to subscribe because this story sucks, write me a short review telling me why I fail at life. If this story made your day, repay me by helping me make it even better (i.e., think: "this is amazing! Except for that third line…" write: "Change that stupid third line, you loser who makes stupid third lines! Loser!")_

_How about this, I'll have a little challenge for y'all: write a review responding to one of two prompts. Anyone who responds to a prompt gets special recognition, and the reviewer with the best response gets imaginary cake. The prompts are: 1) Complete this sentence: "'I Saved Bella's Life' is a suckish fanfiction because…" 2) Complete this sentence: "'I Saved Bella's Life' would be a better fanfiction if…" Criticize away, my dear reviewers! You know you want imaginary cake!_

_Remember, writing a short and sweet review is considerate, but writing a long, thought-out, critical review is selfless._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Sooo… Imaginary cake goes to Chinmayi, the only one to answer my prompt! It's chocolate. I hope that's okay. An additional imaginary cake goes to Bird That Flies At Dawn for the very well thought-out review. This one is a pineapple upside-down cake, because those are quirky and fun and can be very delicious. If you don't like your cakes, imagine them to be different, because they are imaginary. :) Enjoy your cakes, winners! For the rest of you, you can enter to win cakes of your own by submitting a thoughtful and critical review, but in the meantime, chow down on the latest super-long-awaited chapter. I hope it's to your liking._

_o-o-o_

In my free moments throughout the following week, my mind drifted back to Bella. She was a puzzle. It was like she had jumped right out of a poorly written angsty romance novel. But I was determined to decipher this riddle.

At 5:00 I was meditating at my desk when I remembered that Bella's appointment was that day. I immediately snapped to attention, my pace quickening slightly in anticipation. I adjusted a pencil on my desktop out of nervous habit. I couldn't remember ever having wanted so desperately to make a breakthrough.

I heard the Swans approach the receptionist outside my office. After a few seconds of routine discussion ("Five o'clock… Swan… blah blah") Bella's footsteps walked hesitantly up to my open doorway. I stood to welcome her.

"Hello, Bella," I said. "Please, make yourself comfortable." She sat down rigidly on the leather couch. She didn't look comfortable. "How was your week?" I asked pleasantly.

"Awful," she answered.

"What was so awful about it?"

"Everything. Life is terrible." Her words held a tone of brutal honesty.

"I'm sorry that your week didn't go well," I said politely. She said nothing. "So," I began, changing the subject, "last week I asked you what your favorite color is, and you didn't know. Do you remember?"

She nodded.

"Well, have you figured it out yet?"

She looked at her hands and shifted a bit in her seat. Then she did something I had not seen coming.

"Topaz," she whispered before bursting into tears. In a rush of information, she started to pour out her entire story. I jotted down shorthand notes as she vented about her ex-boyfriend and their breakup.

"…and then I tried to follow him and got lost and then everything went fuzzy and Sam found me and brought me home," she blubbered, "and I don't know what to do because he was my whole life and now I have NOTHING." I was about to speak, but she continued: "I always feel empty. He was my soul mate and I thought he loved me. He was a… I mean, he… Sometimes I hear his voice in my head."

"Is that so?" I asked, keeping my voice steady. I felt my pencil tip growing duller as I scribbled hastily.

Her gaze dropped to her shoes and she shifted uncomfortably. It was clear to me that she had never told anyone this before. "Yeah. When I'm in danger."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Like I want to put myself in a dangerous situation so I can hear his voice again."

The lead in the pencil was threatening to break from the force by which I pressed in to my notepad, but I tried to keep a calm demeanor. "Interesting," I simply stated. Inside, my mind was whirling.

"Do you think that means I'm crazy? I think it probably means I'm crazy. I don't even know who I am anymore. I just want him to come back…" She sobbed a few more times and wiped her eyes on her sleeves. After a few seconds, she looked up at me. "I was afraid to tell anyone because they'd think I was insane and make me see a psychologist, but I guess that's not really an option for you, huh? To make me see a psychologist?" A wry smile broke through her tearstained countenance. "Because you are one…"

A smiled back. "Very logical of you."

"Thanks."

"So what now?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Suppose he never comes back. What are you planning to do with the rest of your life?"

"Walk around as an empty shell for as long as I live, I suppose. Because he took my heart and soul with him." She started crying again.

My shoulders fell a little. _This is just as bad as the silence_. I pushed that thought out of my mind as quickly as it arrived. Here was a girl who needed my help. "It's going to be okay," I told her. And it was.

In my mind, that day marks the true beginning of a long, perilous, and life-changing journey.

My work was laid out for me. The next step was to do it.

_A/N: I know it's short and took way too long. Review anyway? Please? :3 You will get imaginary cake._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I'm back! Special thanks to overdramatic comedian, Hibo, and, once again, Bird that Flies at Dawn for your reviews. Overdramatic comedian gets a rainbow cake, Hibo gets a cupcake (but it's a delicious cupcake), and Bird that Flies at Dawn gets… a fruitcake! Mwahaha! :D Hey, I just said I'd give you a cake, not a good one. Besides, you already got one last chapter. And anyway, it's IMAGINARY. Sheesh. No need to get so angry. Just imagine it to be different. Oh yeah, and since I gave a cake to ALL my reviewers this time, I should probably give Karnnlizz, who never got cake, just to be fair. Here you go, Karnnlizz. *chucks cake*_

_Now that that's out of the way, I have some bad news. It's gradually dawned on me that this fanfiction is headed for disaster because a) I don't even like Twilight, b) I have two other fanfictions that I'm working on at the same time, and most of all because c) I know nothing about psychology. But I'm just going to go for it, stretch outside of my comfort zone, and advise you all to stay away from the tracks because this is going to be a train wreck of a story. Oh, and heads up: this chapter is going to contain some serious slackerish shortcutting. Let's get this over with…_

_o-o-o_

My slackerish shortcut: movie montague! To the song Firework by Christina Perry. If you're reading along to the song, read at about four words a second. That's approximately the fastest you comfortably read out loud.

_o-o-o_

"It's going to be okay," I said.

She shook her head. "You're just saying that."

I smiled. "No. I'm not."

(A/N: start song here)

_o-o-o_

Bella lay on the leather couch, staring at the ceiling. "He was everything. Without him, I'm nothing."

"What were you before you met him?" I asked.

"A nobody."

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"Reading and listening to music."

"Those are good activities for relaxing. But do you create? Do you participate? Do you write? Play an instrument? Do sports?"

She shook her head. "I don't have any hobbies like that."

I smiled. "Then maybe you should get one."

"What?"

"Your assignment this week is to create something – anything – and bring it to me at your next appointment."

"Doctors don't give homework!"

"Well, I just did."

_o-o-o_

"How was your week?" I asked as she walked in and sat down.

"Like Rebecca Black's voice in Friday."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Did you do your assignment?"

"Yes." She gave me a sheet of printer paper marked with a number 2 pencil. The drawing is hard to describe, but I'll try: Blank silhouettes of people going their separate ways stood out against a fully shaded background. But one girl had only a thin layer of blank page before blackness took over again at her core. The other people were white shapes, but she was only a white outline.

"It's well done," I said truthfully. "Can you make another next week?"

She snorted. "What am I, an automatic drawing machine? Draw your own pictures." But she did it anyway.

_o-o-o_

"I can't just forget about him, Dr. Stevenson! He was like nobody else in the whole world! He was a –"

"A what?"

"I mean he… he… What I mean to say is, he just… he was really important to me."

"I see."

_o-o-o_

Her next picture was drawn on sketch paper and shaded with brown and blue colored pencils. It was a violent ocean under a stormy sky.

"You captured the view over the ocean really well," I said.

"Thanks. I drew it on the La Push beach.

"That's a beautiful place."

"I know."

_o-o-o_

"And what do you see on this card?"

"Edward."

I reflexively raised my eyebrows at that.

"Kidding. I see a splatter of blood…" she looked worried. "…is that normal?"

I wrote a note on my legal pad. "Depends on your definition of normal."

_o-o-o_

"How was your week, Bella?" I asked for the sixth time.

"Okay," Bella answered for the first. "Hey, Dr. Stevenson, look what I found in my dad's basement!" she pulled a light tan classical guitar. It looked at least twenty years old. "I taught myself to play a song! It was awkward bringing this all the way here, but I really wanted to show you. May I?"

I emulated her smile. "Let's hear it."

_o-o-o_

"Hey, Bella, the library is hosting an art contest in a couple of weeks. You should submit something."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not that good."

"Come on, you're a fantastic artist. You really should."

"…I'll consider it."

_o-o-o_

"…this is the piece I want to submit."

"Are you sure?"

"…maybe? Is there something wrong?"

"It's just that this is a lot less dark than some of your other pieces." The drawing was a detailed sketch of a backyard at night. The shadows cast by the moon were ominous, but there was no sign of depression or violence. It was almost peaceful.

"Well, I was drawing from the soul. And from my bedroom window in the middle of the night."

"I think it's the best one yet."

_o-o-o_

Bella had fallen into depression again. "Edward made me feel special," she admitted tearfully. "Without him, I'm boring and nothing. Nothing ever happens to me. Why is my life so rotten?"

"You know Bella, you shouldn't measure your life on what you get out of it, but what you give to the world."

"I don't give anything to the world."

"Is there nobody you've changed for the better? Nobody you inspire?"

"I don't think so."

_o-o-o_

The next week, Bella came into my office with her face brighter. "I'm taking guitar lessons. Charlie saw me fiddling around with the guitar and told me I should take lessons, so I decided I would!"

"That's wonderful! Can you play anything good yet?"

"Not yet. But someday I'll be a true musician, and then I'll inspire people like you said!"

_o-o-o_

The day came when the art contest submissions were to be displayed and winners announced. I offered to come along and support her, since I didn't have any appointments at that time. Bella said I didn't have to, but I felt like I almost did.

"Hey, Dr. Stevenson!" Bella exclaimed when she saw me. "So you DID come!"

"I certainly did. Have you found your drawing yet?"

"Not yet. But I hope it got a blue ribbon! Or at least one of those other colors."

"I hope so too. But even if you didn't win, you still –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not ten."

After five minutes, we found the drawing. It didn't have a ribbon next to it.

"Aw," Bella sighed in disappointment. "Oh well."

A woman came up behind us. "Hey, is this your picture?" she asked Bella.

"Yeah, why?"

"I just wanted to say that, although I haven't seen many pieces of art yet, this one is my favorite so far. I was surprised it didn't get a ribbon."

"Oh. Thank you."

"The simplicity, and at the same time the depth… not many can achieve that. It's thoroughly inspiring."

"It's kind of you to say so."

The woman walked away, and Bella grinned at me. "You were right. I _can_ inspire people."

"Of course you can."

After a pause, she said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything."

(A/N: hopefully the song ended around here.)

_o-o-o_

A couple of weeks later, Bella stopped coming to me. Over the weeks, she had become a happier person and reverted to what I assumed was her old self. She came back one last time to say goodbye and thank you. I never saw her again.

_o-o-o_

_A/N: There you go! I got the entire story over with in less than four minutes of reading by using the movie montage style! Are you mad at me? You should be! But you gotta admit that was kinda cool. You know, if you read at the right pace… Anyhoo, just one chapter left! I wrote this instead of steadying for my test tomorrow! This is your last chance to review for cake! Ciao!_


	5. Chapter 5

This all took place a few years ago. So what made me think of it now, you may ask?

Well, just yesterday I got a letter in the mail. I was sitting at my desk fifteen minutes before my first appointment of the day when I opened it. It was handwritten on printer paper and folded into sixths, and it read:

_Dear Dr. Stevenson,_

_ You probably don't remember me. My name is Bella Swan. I was one of your patients a few years back. I thought you might like to know that my life is going great now. I'm attending University of Washington and majoring in Literature Analysis. This might not have been possible if you hadn't helped me get back into my groove and put more effort into my school work._

_I have a boyfriend too. He's nothing like Edward, but that's probably a good thing. His name is Robby, and he likes math, music, and video games. I don't really like video games, but I play Guitar Hero with him a lot to make him happy. He doesn't always do what I want or need – our relationship is give and take. I've come to recognize that that's what a relationship should be._

_I don't know where I would be without you. Maybe stuck in a bad marriage, maybe without an education, I might have even lost everything that used to be dear to me. I guess I'll never know – and I have you to thank for it._

_You're an amazing doctor, and I'll never be able to repay my dad for forcing me to see you._

_Thank you for everything._

_Yours Truly,_

_Bella Swan_

After I read the last line, I looked up slowly like an actor in a melodrama. For some strange reason, I found myself choking back a wave of tears. I let my head fall onto the back of my chair, and I grinned up at the white, white ceiling for a few minutes, hugging the letter to my chest like a child with its comfort object. Anyone looking on would have thought I'm crazy. Maybe I am, just a little.

I am a psychologist and I love my job.

_A/N: YEESH that fanfiction did NOT turn out how I was hoping. YIKES. All in all, I guess it was okay… but I like my other works better… thoughts? Oh, and by the way, last imaginary cake goes to crazymusicalgenius96. It's an awesomesauce cake. It's made with awesomesauce. No, I don't know what awesomesauce tastes like. Use your imagination. And read my other stories, because they're WAY BETTER than this one. In my humble opinion._


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